


golden child, lion boy;

by emrys (livingshitpost)



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Battle for Broken Shore, Child Loss, Demons, Family Loss, Gen, Gore, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Kinfic, Mild Gore, No Incest, Non-Canonical Character Death, Not Beta Read, Pre-World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth, Varian Wrynn Lives, World of Warcraft: Legion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 17:03:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livingshitpost/pseuds/emrys
Summary: tell me what it's like to b u r n .Anduin takes his father's place on the Broken Shore.





	1. the part where it all goes wrong

The Light dissipates around him, overpowered by the stench of Fel. The deaths of the demons surrounding him are messy — almost as unclean as the creatures themselves. Their green blood boils beneath grey flesh, bringing blisters to the surface of them and they fall away to bubbling masses of sinew.

It goes on like this for what feels like hours, like years; what feels like the blink of an eye, and he's damn near certain that his eyes have turned to shimmering pools of gold, his skin glistening, his tongue dancing with the hymns he knows by heart—

And then there's searing pain. So unlike the flaring in the marrow of his bones (though he feels that now, too). It's piercing, forcing its way through his ribs, and then it's joined by another and his knees begin to buckle. 

He isn't going home. 

The taste of copper is bitter on his tongue. Every breath burns, and his shattered ribs grind together. He falls to his knees before Gul'dan against his will. 

"You will be remembered," the warlock drawls, "as the prince who sacrificed his life for  _nothing._ "

His final breaths are shaking, but still his lips curl up with defiance. "For the Alliance," he says cooly, "and for Azeroth."

He calls upon the Light and, for a moment, it shields him from the white-hot pain and the brimstone filling the air. But the warlock presses further and his grin turns to a grimace, a strangled scream escaping his throat. The scent of burning hair and flesh consumes him until he is nothing more than a stain of greasy ash on the sickly, grey dirt and the scorched remains of a wooden cane. 


	2. the aftermath of it all

The king bites his lip, fiddling with the neatly-folded edges of the letter. The blue wax remains untouched. He slides a dull knife under it and opens the tri-folded parchment. 

_Father, if you are reading this, then you have returned from the Broken Shore with the news that I am dead. I'm sorry that you must read another of these notes from me._

_I know you were hesitant to allow me to see the front lines. And I understand your concern._ _I have not known all the horrors that war has to offer, as you have, but I am not a child anymore. Though my swordsmanship is lacking, I certainly inherited your stubbornness._

_I knew the inherent danger of going to war, and I knew that I may not have returned. Know that I loved our world and our people wholeheartedly. To die for them was an honor that I do not take lightly._

_Do not blame yourself for my death, Father. I knew what I was doing by joining you on the field of battle. I wish I were still with you, but this was my choice to make. And, though I know you aren't a particularly religious man, I am always with you in the Light._

_My final wish, I suppose, is that you continue to fight for peace. You made me a better man — stronger and unafraid to speak my mind — and I have seen my influence upon you in turn. You are fiercely protective and devoted, as you always have been, but you no longer simply run headfirst at the enemy. You are willing to take the time to talk, if the other side shows the same courtesy, and I commend you for that._

_Above all, know that I love you dearly._

The king traces his fingers over the flourishing signature. He shuts his eyes tightly, but his grip remains almost delicate, as though the parchment will fall apart at any moment. He sets it on his desk and puts his head in his hands. His broad shoulders shake ever so slightly, but he remains silent.


End file.
